


Do That To Me One More Time

by Duck_Life



Category: All New X-Men (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Bisexuality, Cereal, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby and Scott are off being Bobby and Scott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do That To Me One More Time

“It’s good to have you back on earth,” Bobby says, because he’s finally gotten a chance to have a real conversation with Scott after the hectic year of it’s-the-end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it, so of-frickin’- _course_ he has to say the dumbest thing imaginable.

Scott laughs, but not in a mean way. Probably. Bobby hopes. “It’s good to be back on earth,” he admits, leaning against one kitchen cupboard of their new home base. “Atmosphere is nice. Plants are good.”

“I like plants,” says Bobby Drake, conversational extraordinaire. He props himself against the island and tries not to look awkward. “So… how is this all gonna work, then? You’re boss-man again?”

Scott ducks his head like he’s literally sinking down under the pressure on him. “I can be field leader,” he says. “I can take the lead in actual real-time missions. But as for making the big decisions… I don’t know.” Shutting his eyes, he rubs at his forehead. “I don’t know, Bobby.”

“We could put everything to a vote,” Bobby suggests. “And we could have, like, team meetings with a talking stick that gets passed around. And a suggestion box!”

Scott exhales like he’s too tired to laugh. “But how will we ever get a suggestion box started if we have no original suggestion box in which to suggest it?”

Bobby shrugs. “We can use Professor Kitty’s old suggestion box,” he says, pointing to the trashcan.

And either Scott’s completely exhausted and delirious or he’s finally starting to find Bobby’s jokes funny, because he _loses_ it, laughing so hard he actually snorts. As he’s recovering from his fit of the giggles, his head bobs a little too hard, or he jostles too much. Somehow, his ruby quartz glasses end up on the linoleum floor instead of on his head.

“Shit,” Bobby says, rushing to grab the specs just as Scott bends down to pick them up himself, and their heads collide with a satisfying coconuts-clunking-together sound. Well, it would have been satisfying if it didn’t leave both of them with a sizeable headache. “Shit,” Bobby says again. “Sorry.”

“Watch your fucking language,” Scott warns, eyes squinched shut. He gets down on his hands and knees and feels around for his sunglasses, Bobby electing to keep his distance and avoid another bonking incident. After about a minute of fruitless searching, near the end of which Bobby starts wondering if he should risk the head-bonking and help the guy out, Scott recovers his glasses and shoves them back on his face as he’s standing up.

Unfortunately, with all the moving around and sightlessness, Scott ends up standing up right smack dab in the middle of Bobby’s personal space.

“Oh,” he says, and Bobby can feel Scott’s breath tickling his face. “Oops. Hi.”

Bobby can see himself in Scott’s sunglasses and he can smell Scott’s shampoo and suddenly the phrase “too close for comfort” is _unbelievably_ an understatement.

On the other hand, he’s not sure he’s ever been so comfortable in his entire life.

“Hi,” he says back, wondering which one of them is supposed to step back first. Up close, he can see that Scott’s not really that much taller than him. Of course, _he’s_ probably still due a growth spurt. Bobby tries to remember the Corsair—how tall was he? It’s all getting jumbled together in his brain, Scott’s dad and outer space and Scott and personal space and _wow_ , his really platonic friend has a really excellent jawline and really nice lips.

Bobby’s frozen for a second or two before Scott starts moving forward, and then he’s thinking maybe he should be moving backward, except that he bumps into the counter and then Scott leans in and presses his lips against Bobby’s.

It’s quick and warm and nice. Bobby feels like all of his skin is on fire, and then Scott does back away.

“Sorry,” says Bobby, and Scott coughs out a laugh.

“What?”

“Sorry,” Bobby says again like maybe Scott didn’t hear him. “I, um, that was… yeah. Oops. Is this like… could you not see? Or, um, that was… that was like an accident or something, right? Um.”

Scott’s eyes might be weapons of mass destruction, but the way they flit up and down now, taking in all of Bobby, is gentle. “Have you ever kissed a guy before, Bobby?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Like twelve seconds ago. So… no. Not before. That.”

“But you’re gay?”

“DID EVERYBODY KNOW BUT ME?” Bobby grinds out, exasperated. He’s begun pacing around the kitchen now, wondering if he’d rather the rest of the team return now and save him from this conversation or if he’d rather no one walk in on… whatever this is. “Yes. Yep. That’s… yeah. Okay? Yes. Affirmative. Can we go beat up Sabretooth or something because this is really awkward…”

“Bobby, there’s nothing wrong with being-”

“But you’re not, okay?” Bobby says, hating how squeaky his voice sounds. “So this isn’t… this isn’t. And you’re not. So let’s just… not. Talk. Okay?”

Adjusting his glasses like he’s trying to buy time to think of something to say, Scott sighs and hops up on the counter behind him, legs dangling just above the floor. “Bobby, you know how some people are bisexual?”

“I don’t know anyone who’s bisexual.”

Scott runs a hand through his hair, again like he’s buying time. Finally he sighs again and says, “Yeah… you do.”

“Oh.” Bobby blinks. “Is it Kitty? Because you know I always thought she and Illy-”

“ _Bobby_.”

“Oh,” Bobby says again. “ _Oh_. Oh. Solid. Okay. Far-out.” Since coming to the present day, all of the time-displaced X-men have linguistically slid between their outdated familiar slang and newer, stranger terms. “Ace. Bitchin’. Dope.”

“Bobby, I’m just trying to… you know,” Scott shrugs. “Let you know. You’re not alone out there.”

“Right. Thank you.”

“And,” Scott adds, his legs swinging beneath him, “just because we both know that we’re both, well, into other guys, it doesn’t… look, I’m not going to pressure you or something, okay? Bobby? You’re my friend. And it’s kind of annoying when people assume that all non-straight people must be into each other, you know?” He shrugs. “So we don’t have to… you know? I’m just letting you know you have a friend.”

“Right,” Bobby says. “Good. A friend.” He shakes his head like he’s trying to get water out of his ears, drums his fingers on the surface of the counter, thinks for a second. “ _Or_ …”

* * *

When Hank and the rest of them return from their nerd-cation, it’s difficult to tell what was going on in the kitchen but Bobby leaps halfway across the floor when they open the door, looking red in the face. Scott’s standing by the fridge looking incredibly sheepish. _Something_ happened, clearly.

Hank chooses to eat.

“How was the trip, guys?” Scott asks, hastily yanking boxes of cereal out of the pantry even though it’s almost seven at night.

“Well, we had to come home early,” Evan answers. “I don’t know how to explain it, but… stuff happened.”

“What stuff?” Bobby snaps, glancing jerkily around the room. “No stuff. Nothing happened. How was the trip, guys?”

“Uh, Scott?” Hank says while Idie and Evan regale the tale of their short-lived road trip. “Do you maybe want to put some of that milk _in_ the bowl?”

Scott glances down at the milk he’s been pouring straight onto the counter for the past few seconds, inches away from his bowl of cereal. “Heh,” he says. “Oops.”


End file.
